


Be Mine and the World Be Damned

by Fenix21



Series: S12E1 Keep Calm and Carry On Coda Collection [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Fix-it, Episode: s12e01 Keep Calm and Carry On, Guilt, M/M, Wincest - Freeform, episode coda, oh the DRAMA!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 15:59:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8333683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenix21/pseuds/Fenix21
Summary: Dean and Sam belonged together, in every version of Heaven and the Universe, and nothing was standing in their way. Not even mom.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the third installment. Look! It even got it's own series name so I could group them together in order. Returned by popular demand because, well, we had to know how Mary took her grown up boys being in love with each other, didn't we?
> 
> This was written in a fevered furor (I'm serious, the thermometer said, like, a hundred degrees) to get it out before episode two aired and ruined my entire framework. Fair warning.
> 
> Oh, and I'm sorry about the shopping trip. That was...I'm not sure where that came from, but anyway.

The world didn't stop for a Winchester, Mary found, even one who had come back from the dead.

Dean's promised talk the next morning was preempted by the appearance of Cas in the kitchen before anyone had even gotten a cup of coffee, saying that there was a trail of burned out 'meat-suits' across three northwestern states. After which, Dean headed for the armory, Sam ensconced himself behind the laptop and a tablet (which Mary later learned was just a smaller, even more portable computer), and Cas disappeared as suddenly as he'd come to continue scouting out the situation, leaving Mary to sip her coffee alone at the kitchen counter.

They chased down the bodies over the course of the following week, hitting police stations and coroner's offices with fake badges and suits.

It was a little awkward at first and only became more so as the days wore on. Dean drove, almost exclusively. Sam spent most of his time behind the computer doing research and scanning the internet (whatever that was) for more reports of similarly deceased victims. They stayed in cheap hotels at night which created perhaps the most awkward moment between them all, that was lost on Mary, as her boys stood fidgeting in front of the office clerk for a full two minutes, passing glances back and forth that were apparently tantamount to a full conversation for them. She finally stepped up and told the poor girl behind the desk to give them two rooms, one double and a single. Dean looked slightly relieved and, for no reason she could understand, Sam looked a mix of nervous and terrified. 

If she'd hoped for any conversation over meals, she was disappointed there as well. It seemed business was the only topic on the table for discussion when they were out on a hunt, and Mary's focus was on not creating any more kinks in their system than were strictly necessary, so she followed their lead and tried to keep up. Which wasn't to say they weren't gracious, solicitous, and helpful. They were, but more like they would be with a stranger than with their own family. She had to remind herself when she started feeling edgy and angry at times like those, that to them she _was_ a stranger, and really, as much as she was trying to ignore it, they were strangers to her as well. They tried to remember to stop and explain whenever she gave them a confused look over some term she didn't recognize (usually in regards to technology), and Sam even gave her a crash course on his laptop. They talked, too, about normal things, memories they had of John, but they seemed in distressingly short supply and often ended with a cut off sentence, an abrupt change in subject, or a wilted smile. 

Individually, her boys seemed to have grown up into very strong, capable, and intelligent men, fit to be any mother's pride and joy. Dean filled the big brother role to a 'T', sometimes to the point of earning an exasperated sigh and scowl from Sam, though he appeared to be very accustomed to this, and Mary noted the fondness that was underlying any frustration Sam deigned to show, which wasn't much. Sam, in fact, didn't show much of anything. He somehow managed to keep from making eye contact just about all the time without ever seeming to actively avoid it. He never talked about anything substantial and somehow managed never to be alone with her, something Dean was subtly aiding and abetting.  More than anything, she wanted to understand why.

Together, her boys were…magnificent. It was an odd descriptor, she knew, but there was nothing else that came to mind to encompass the perfectly honed, finely tuned unit they had made themselves into. The level of silent communication they had developed almost verged on telepathic. The way they started and finished each other's sentences, were always aware of each other's presence and position in any space, even the way they tag-teamed witnesses and officials alike, slipping personalities on and off like a well-worn wardrobe to suit every occasion. 

And yet…there was something they weren't letting her see. 

After eight straight days of chasing the rising body count and making no headway, they turned for home, but if she thought that was going to give them a chance to unwind and get down to the business of becoming acquainted with one another, she was wrong again. Cases kept rolling in, of one sort or another, and sometimes she wondered if they weren't deliberately seeking them out to keep her and all her questions at bay.

One such case she decided to sit out, and Dean promised they'd be gone less than forty-eight hours, leaving Cas with her 'For protection, Mom' because Amara had gotten through the bunker's defenses, and Sam hadn't had a chance to find the extent of the damage to all the wards or check their effectiveness yet. Some mean and childish part of herself thought it was a way to ensure she didn't snoop, but she forced that thought away and reminded herself the real reason for staying behind was to give her a chance to catch her own breath and try and figure out what it meant to her to be the mother of these two grown Hunters.

She figured the best place to start was with what she knew.

 

'Dude. A vengeful _horse_ spirit?' Sam threw their duffle of leftover salt and lighter fluid on the bed closest to the door. 'Let's _never_ do that again.'

Dean grinned as he dropped their weapons bag beside the door and kicked it shut with his foot. 'Be one with the horse, Sam,' he laughed.

Sam balled up the jacket he'd just slipped out of and threw it at Dean's head. Dean dodged it easily and slid up beside Sam in one long stride, wrapping his arms around him from behind and tucking his face against his shoulder.

'I'm sorry. I shouldn't tease,' he apologized in a rare show of concern. 'How's the shoulder?'

'Just stay right there and it'll be fine,' Sam replied, leaning back into Dean's arms. 'God, I miss this…'

'Yeah,' Dean agreed wistfully.

They stood like that for a while, just enjoying the closeness, because there had been little of it in the last few weeks, even when they were alone, they'd been vigilant, lest Mary stumble over them unexpectedly.

'Sam, we gotta tell her.'

Sam shook his head slowly back and forth. 'Tell her what, Dean? That her sons are committing incest right under her nose?' It came out more peevish then he'd intended and Dean pulled away.

'It's never been about that, and you know it.'

'Well, it's one of the perks at any rate,' Sam said, turning and dropping onto the bed.

'That wasn't what I was talking about anyway.' Dean shed his jacket and sat down opposite Sam. 'We need to tell her about Dad, about us, about everything.'

'Yeah? And how exactly are you going to sum up the last ten fucked up years of our lives for her, huh? 

‘Dad was an ass mostly, but he made a deal with a demon to save my life. Sam was a demon-blood-addicted-almost-boy-king of Hell, and I was the star pupil of one of Hell's most renowned masters of torture, oh but he's dead by the way, Sammy killed him with his psychic powers, so it's okay.’

‘Sam…’ 

‘And I almost forgot! Sam was Lucifer's chosen vessel, spent a year as his bitch in the Cage, walked around soulless for a while, then started hallucinating him everywhere until his hair and fingernails started to fall out. I was supposed to be Michael’s vessel, but that didn’t really work out so he jumped our half-brother Adam’s bones instead so the Angels could have their apocalypse because they were pissed at Daddy for abandoning them. And while we’re on the subject of jumping bones, Sam and I are fucking each other!

‘That sound about right, Dean? Did I miss anything?’

Sam was shouting now, both hands in his hair, pacing the room like a caged animal. Dean just stared at him blankly for a minute or two.

‘Jesus, Sam,’ he finally said. ‘Don’t make it sound so picturesque.’

‘Damn it, Dean—!’

‘No!’ Dean shot up from the bed and faced off with Sam in the middle of his path back across the carpet. ‘Sam. Look. I know you’re freaking out, and I also know it’s got next to nothing to do with ‘us.’’

'Yeah, 'cause she's just gonna take that one in her stride with everything else!' Sam spun and paced back toward the kitchenette. Dean grabbed his shoulder and spun him back. It was the one he'd slammed into the big deciduous when the horse-spirit had reared up and tried to take his face off with both hooves. Sam flinched hard and yielded. Dean swore a soft apology, but kept hold of his brother's arm.

'I told you already I wasn't letting her or what she thought come between us, and I know you sure as hell aren't, so why don't you tell me what this is really all about,' he said evenly.

Sam sagged, looked around the room, for all the world channeling the lost little boy of five or six that Dean remembered hoisting up on his hip and hugging close, then he sighed and sank back onto the bed. Dean followed, keeping a  hand between his shoulder blades.

'Dean, she's…' Sam started, seemed to think better of it, frowned and tried again. 'I don't remember her.'

Dean shrugged a little. 'I don't really either, man. We're none of us who we were thirty-three years ago.' He rubbed a circle across Sam's shoulders. 'That's not it either, though.' Sam's eyes darted up to meet his and then away to the door and around the room again before coming to rest on his hands, knotted tightly together between his knees. Dean could feel him try to shrink away from his touch. 'Sam?'

'It's her fault,' Sam whispered. He flinched with the words, like he expected Dean to come off the bed yelling or maybe even hit him. He hazarded a glance and saw Dean's face was sad and pensive.

'You're right,' he finally sighed.

'Dean, I know you—'

'Sam, it's okay. I'm not mad.' Dean slid closer on the bed, so their shoulders touched and they were connected hip to ankle. 'I just…I don't know how to make it better for you.'

Sam shook his head. 'I don't need you to make it better, Dean, but I can't just look at her and love her like you do. I haven't got any memories of her at all, and I…I don't want to blame her for what she did, but I do, I think, at least a little.'

Dean was quiet for a minute, then, 'Is it so much different than what you and I have done, Sammy? Really? She was in love with Dad.' He ran a hand through Sam's hair. 'I was in love with you.'

Sam leaned into the touch. 'But you only sold your own soul. You didn't trade for an innocent life.'

'But she didn't know that's what would happen, Sam. She didn't know Azazel would want you.'

'I know,' Sam murmured. 'But it started with her.'

Dean nodded thoughtfully. There was a long pause in which they could almost hear each other's hearts beat, and Sam reached over and twined his fingers with Dean's free hand.

'So, what do you want to do?' Dean asked finally.

Sam shuddered a little. 'Go home, I guess, and…try.'

'Okay.' Dean nodded again. 'Okay, but,' he leaned in to press his lips against the hinge of Sam's jaw, firm and warm, and whispered, 'how about tomorrow, huh? We'll leave in the morning, after breakfast.'

Sam closed his eyes and tipped his head back, fingers tightening around Dean's and pulled his hand across to rest on his thigh. Dean dipped his fingers down between Sam's legs and Sam let his knees fall further apart.

'Yeah,' he agreed, voice hoarse, and slowly tumbled down to the mattress as Dean leaned up and over him with a dark grin and a fire deep in his emerald eyes.

 

Cas was relatively sure a shopping trip, even only as far as downtown Lebanon (what there was of it at any rate), was not on the acceptable to-do list when Sam and Dean left on their latest hunt. He'd been a little distressed at being left with Mary in the bunker and not allowed to continue his pursuit of Lucifer, but he also understood that the brothers needed time to themselves to try and get a grip on their so radically changed circumstances of late, so he was happy to lend a hand. 

He'd expected long awkward silences and small talk from Mary (something he was finally coming close to mastering), or a continuous stream of questions about Sam and Dean and what they did and how they lived and their history in the years of her absence, only part of which he knew anyway. However, she did neither. She moved around him in her chosen tasks like he was any other fixture of the bunker, asking for his help when she needed it, either in understanding what she was reading in one of the many tomes she perused, or on the computer Sam had left for her to browse through subjects of her choice. He was honestly surprised she didn't take the opportunity to ransack the boys' rooms the minute the front door closed and locked, but to the the best of his ability to discern, Mary exhibited very little curiosity in her sons' lives. Or she hid it very, very well.

The day they were due back, Mary roused Cas from his vigil in front of Sam's Netflix, and asked if he would like to accompany her to the store. He reluctantly agreed after she fluently shot down every paltry excuse he could name as to why it was a bad idea. 

Their first stop was a clothing store, where she spent about forty minutes choosing a pretty patterned blouse in muted blues and turquoise and a cardigan of soft lamb's wool. Dean had given her a card and she purchased the items without a hitch. The next stop was the local grocery store where she seemed to relax a bit, muttering something about 'at least there were _some_ constants in life', and went about filling a cart with various food selections while Cas trailed behind like a confused puppy. He had never seen Sam or Dean shop, and the food runs on which he had accompanied either or both of them had most commonly consisted of burgers, pizza, and beer. Mary chose none of these things, and Cas felt he should correct her in her choices, but she was their mother after all and didn't that saying go, 'mother knows best'?

He was relieved to get back to the bunker with their purchases and even more so to discover the brothers hadn't returned yet. Apparently, so was Mary. She immediately set to work in the kitchen chopping various vegetables and browning meat, and set a bowl of potatoes in front of Cas after briefly explained the art of peeling.

Dean called at four to say they were an hour out. Mary headed for a bath, telling Cas to keep an eye on the potatoes and not let them boil over. She came back dressed in fresh jeans and the shirt and cardigan she'd bought earlier just as Cas heard the Impala pull into the garage.

 

Dean caught a whiff of cooking meat the second he stepped into the bunker proper. Normally, this would be a welcome thing in any other household, but he and Sam had smelled barbecue on too many occasions that didn't involve anything close to dining. He kept his hand on his gun as they both cautiously approached the kitchen which seemed to be the source of the smell and worked to support the theory that this time it might actually be roast cooking instead of roasted meat-suit. 

'Hey, guys,' Mary said as Dean rounded the corner. 'Your timing is perfect. I'll have the potatoes done in ten minutes. You have just enough time for a shower.'

Dean blinked at her, at Cas who was wearing an apron tied on over his trench coat, and at their kitchen table that had been set with actual plates and glasses and silverware. Sam was standing beside him trying to remember how to hinge his jaw shut.

'It, uh, smells great…Mom,' Dean said.

'Good. It's baked steak. About one of the only dishes I can do without smoke alarms going off. So. Go get cleaned up!'

Sam looked at Dean and Dean looked at Sam, then gave a sharp nod of his head, 'Yes, ma'am,' and turned on his heel and headed for the shower. 

When they returned, Cas had vanished, and the kitchen table was laden with bowls of mashed potatoes, carrots and peas, dinner rolls, salad, and a covered baking dish of thin steaks in gravy with mushrooms and onions. 

'Wow.' Dean surveyed the spread. 'I don't think we've eaten like this in…' he passed a surprised look to Sam. 'Ever.'

Sam nodded agreement.

'Well, there's a hitch to this,' Mary said. 

Dean felt Sam tense up beside him.

'We are not talking about work tonight.' She gave them each a long measuring look. 'We're talking about you and what it is you're trying so very _hard_ not to tell me.'

Sam was leaning backward, preparing to spin away, and Dean put a hand in the small of his back, pressed him gently toward a stool. 'Sam.'

Sam nodded, a little jerkily, and slid onto the stool, keeping his gaze averted. 

Dean settled Mary on the one chair at the table and then slid in beside Sam, between them. 

They dished out food and ate in silence for the first few minutes, until Dean finally said quietly, 'Where would you like us to start?'

Mary paused and set her fork down, smoothed her napkin across her knees. 'I would say at the beginning, but that's a lot of ground to cover. Even the highlights would probably take a solid week of double espressos and binge talking to get through, I imagine. I guess…all I really want to know is, are you happy?'

Sam made a pained sound in the back of his throat and nearly dropped his spoon. Dean put a hand on his knee under the table. Mary frowned.

'I mean, was there _any_ normal in your lives? At any point after…?'

Dean looked at Sam, as if for permission, and then looked back at Mary. 'Not really, no. I told you about Dad, how he went nuts trying to find the thing that killed you, learned everything he could about Hunting and the things in the dark, taught it all to us, to protect us. He had the best intentions. It didn't always seem like it, but he did. He was a good dad. As good as anyone could be in that situation.

'Sammy was never happy with the Life, though. It didn't fit him, not like it did me and Dad, and I didn't blame him for it. He went to college for a few years, had a girl, was about to go to law school when I came to pick him up.' Sam had shrunk down in his seat, hair falling forward, and Mary's expression was growing increasingly broken as she looked from one to the other of them while Dean continued to explain. 'Jessica died. Azazel thought she was a distraction.'

'Azazel?' Mary's voice was hushed, almost frightened.

'He's gone now,' Dean assured her. 'But he had his sights set on Sam, and others. There were others, but Sam was his golden child.'

'Why?'

Dean sighed. 'Look, this is tangled, and you're right, it would take…forever to explain everything. Suffice it to say we've survived a lot and never really met anything we couldn't figure our way through.' He looked very soberly at Sam. 'Sometimes the cost was… _high_ , but we always figured it out.' He looked back at Mary. 'Are we happy? I don't think happiness is something we ever really factored into our lives. Acceptance? Yeah, I think we've both accepted it, and we're content with our choices.'

Mary sat with her hands in her lap, silent, for so long Dean wasn't sure if she was going to respond at all, until she finally shook her head in bewildered astonishment, and asked, 'How did you survive it all?'

'We had each other.'

Mary's gaze flickered up to meet Sam's. What she saw there was intense and irrefutable, and something in the back of her mind clicked into place, sliding glances and touches and subtle body language around to fit like pieces of a puzzle whose picture she didn't have, but whose edges she was definitely starting to feel.

She licked her lips. 'You two are very close.'

'You could say that,' Dean replied cautiously. His hand tightened on Sam's knee, but Sam was siting up, sitting forward.

'I'm in love with him,' he said.

'Excuse me?' Mary blinked.

Dean sighed. 'Well, that's that, then,' he muttered. He nudged Sam with his elbow. 'He's a hopeless romantic this one, but yeah…he's in love with me. And it's mutual.'

'Okay, I'm not sure I…' She gave her head a rough shake. 'Come again?'

'We only ever had each other growing up, Mom,' Dean said. 'And by Heaven's own admission, we were pretty much built for each other, handcrafted through the generations to create just exactly what we are.'

'And that would be?'

'Soul mates,' Sam said.

'Soul mates,' Mary repeated, staring.

'Yeah, we even share the same Heaven, which we're told is pretty rare,' Dean agreed. 'We were supposed to stand opposite each other at the apocalypse—'

' _The_ Apocalypse, apocalypse?'

'That's the one. But I wouldn't play ball with Michael—'

'Michael?'

'The archangel whose vessel I was supposed to be while I fought Lucifer.'

'But you said you and Sam…?'

'Yeah, Sam was Lucifer's vessel,' Dean explained. Mary's eyes shot wide. 'It didn't come to all that. Obviously. Sam dumped Lucifer back in his Cage and…well, that's getting back into the tangled part of the story. I guess Chuck—God—said it best when we were fighting Amara: we're the firewall between light and darkness, it's who we are, what we do, but it only works if we're together.'

'So,' Mary drew out the syllable. 'You two are preordained? Destined…or something?'

'Dean doesn't believe in destiny,' Sam said.

'Yeah, well,' Dean hedged. 'No, and I'd like to say I'd have chosen this no matter what. I believe I would have. But yeah, you could say we were destined, just like you and Dad.'

'John and I…?'

'Yeah, it goes back further. A lot further. The angels have supposedly been manipulating the bloodline since Cain and Abel.'

Mary's eyes were finally starting to fill, and Dean could see the finest tremor in her shoulders. He offered his hand across the table to her, palm up. She very reluctantly brought up one of her own and gingerly laid it across her son's.

'So this— _all_ this—was predetermined? Scripted? Since the…very beginning?' She looked as bothered by the thought as Dean had always been that her life had not been her own.

'Pretty much.' Dean closed his fingers around hers gently. 'We were still allowed our choices, and we made them, and some of them were wrong. Like when I sold my soul to save Sam.'

'You… _sold_ your soul?'

'Yeah, and I suppose from Hell's point of view that was exactly what was supposed to happen, or something like it, but Heaven had other ideas.' Dean grinned, but it wasn't particularly humorous. 'Sent in an armada of Angels to yank me back.'

'Back?'

'From Hell.'

Mary jerked her hand back and covered her face. 'Oh my God…'

'Mom—'

'I started this!' She lurched from her chair, almost upending her glass and the silverware jumped on the table. Dean leaned back, tensing to follow her. 'I…started _all_ of this!'

'No, Mom, you really didn't,' Dean said. He rose and took her by the shoulders. 'It was going to happen one way or another, the powers that be were going to see to that, and trust me when I say we tried to fight it with everything we had. We were sure we'd lost, lots of times, but we managed to foil the bigger plan in the end.'

Mary looked from one to the other of them, eyes wide, fearful, and a little angry, too. 'But that Demon—Azazel—if I'd just let John—' She couldn't finish that thought. 'If I hadn't agreed to it, then none of it would have happened, you two—you two would have been safe.'

'No. We—' Dean nodded inclusively at Sam, '—wouldn't have been here.' Mary's eyes went wider, if that were even possible. Dean smiled gently. 'Actually, we tried that, too. The last time we were sent back to see you. That was the idea, to stop you from saving John, but we were too late.'

'Too late?'

Dean rubbed his thumbs against her upper arms and gave her a once-over look. 'You said you weren't leaving him.'

'But if you'd explained—' Mary protested. 

'I did.' Dean shook his head sadly. 'You were already pregnant.'

Mary's hand flew to cover her stomach. 'Oh God.' 

'The only way would have been to kill you,' Dean continued. Mary looked up into his face, shocked. 'And I wasn't going to do that. I couldn't do that. Not even to save us all. Just another one of those choices that wasn't right.'

Sam finally rose from the table and came to stand behind Dean's shoulder. He put a hand on his brother's hip, the other reached to take Mary's. 'But we made them, every one of them, the only way we could, and we dealt with the consequences. That's a story for another time—for a lot of other times.' He squeezed Mary's hand, and one of the collection of tears that sat on her lashes slipped and fell at this first willing connection from her youngest son. 'You asked if we were happy…' He looked down at Dean and his brother nodded once, firmly. He looked back to Mary. 'We are…Mom. We are happy. With each other. And the rest of the world be damned.'

Mary stood in front of them, trembling, looking lost for the first time since Dean had found her in the dark outside that arboretum. There was a lot more to tell her, more that she would have to learn on her own, but it could come in bits and pieces over time. Because they had that now, Dean had a feeling. Their lives had been strange and tragic, and for longer than he could remember he felt like everyone else had a say but him. Now, he felt oddly at peace. Even with Lucifer still supposedly out there loose, he felt calmer and more grounded than he had been in years. Maybe ever. Lucifer was small change compared to Amara and God and the Apocalypse. Having come out on the winning side in that, he felt there was probably not much else the universe had up her sleeve to throw at them that they wouldn't be able to deal with.

 _Been to Hell, broke the seal_. 

It would sound good on a t-shirt, he thought. 

Mary stepped into their space and it only took half a heartbeat for them both to fold around her in a fierce hug. Sam even pressed his face into her hair, and kissed her temple softly.

'This wasn't exactly how I planned on the evening going, ' Mary finally said, a little muffled and uneven from the tears she was  quietly shedding into Dean's shirtfront. 

Dean chuckled. 'You're going to find that being a Winchester pretty much means things _never_ go according to plan.' He hugged her a little harder. 'But you'll get used to it.

 

Later that night, Dean sprawled on his memory foam mattress beneath his brother's naked weight, face pillowed in the crook of his arm while Sam ran absent fingers through his sweat damp hair and pressed soft, barely-there-kisses along the line of his shoulder. The door was still locked behind them because Mary may have the vaguest idea that the relationship her sons had was significantly deeper than the average co-dependent siblings, and that it was authorized pretty much by God himself, but neither of them were ready to introduce her to the more carnal aspects just yet.

'Did you mean what you said, Sammy?' Dean murmured sleepily. ''Bout being happy?'

Sam answered with several more soft kisses to Dean's skin and then pushed up enough that he would plant one at the corner of Dean's mouth. 'Yeah. I meant it.'

Dean was quiet for a while, drowsing beneath his brother's continued ministrations. 

'After everything that's happened…all that fighting for 'normal' and 'safe',' Dean said. 'You ready to say you're happy here? With just me and the monsters?'

'Well, I'm not sure how Mom would react to you thinking she's a monster…' Dean put a half-hearted elbow in Sam's ribs and Sam laughed, 'But, yes. Yeah. I am. I really am. Doesn't mean some day I don't hope we can retire somewhere out of the way and hang up the salt and silver, but yeah. I'm happy, Dean. As long as I'm with you.'

Dean sighed and turned over so he could look in his brother's face. He lifted his hands and framed Sam's broad, strong jaw, rubbed a thumb across his lower lip, and looked. Just looked, and loved everything he saw in all the shapes he saw it in, melding and overlapping through all the years of their lives.

'You really think we're gonna make it that far, huh?'

Sam nodded, pressing a kiss to the pad of Dean's thumb as it traveled over his lip. 'Yeah, I do. Both of us.'

Dean smiled and leaned up to capture Sam's mouth in a long, slow kiss, that tasted of after-sex-quiet, and love, and hope, and dreams of the future. 'Then I suppose we better start planning for the long term, huh? You still got that brochure Millie gave you?'

Sam grinned into the kiss. 'Actually…I do.'


End file.
